


A Losing Battle

by TheGreenMeridian



Series: Battles [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 22:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian
Summary: After Collins’ mission to free the propeller, Harry finds himself overcome with desire.Part of Terror Bingo
Relationships: Henry Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Series: Battles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555234
Comments: 22
Kudos: 69
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	A Losing Battle

**Author's Note:**

> My first fill for Terror Bingo! Naturally, it’s smut. Enjoy!
> 
> For the square: Henry Goodsir

The door slides shut behind him, and Harry leans back against it. Of course he had noticed Collins from the very start of their voyage and found him most handsome, but until now, his undue interest has been under control. But Collins had needed to be examined after his submersion in the icy water, and it’s proving to be Harry’s ruin. Now, he’s seen the man stripped to his smalls, and it’s only through sheer force of will that he managed to hold back the now rapidly forming erection until he reached the safety of his cabin. Harry looks down at the swelling in his trousers and shame begins to pull at him.

“Oh, please go away,” Harry begs, helpless against his body’s desire.

Collins is a colleague, a good friend, someone who trusts him. To lust for him as he does is a betrayal, and to be so aroused from having observed him in a medical capacity is despicable. He takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself, to force the images from his mind, but it doesn’t halt the needy twitching of his prick. All he can think of is how thick Collins’ chest hair was and how silken it felt to his touch as he checked the man’s heartbeat. His nipples, pert from the cold and nestled within the forest of dark hair, were a beautiful shade of pink and Harry wishes he knew how it would feel to warm them with his lips. Finer still is Collins’ impressive physique, all thick muscle and soft flesh with thighs like ship’s masts and arms that could easily lift Harry against a wall or press him down into his bunk. A shudder leaves Harry half breathless, and he knows that he is likely leaking copiously into his own smallclothes. He has always strived to be a man of honesty and morals, to do good and be honourable, but none of these lofty aims are easing his terrible need one jot.

With a pained sob, he takes to his bunk, rucks up his shirt and pushes his trousers down his thighs, choking back a moan at the relief that comes from freeing himself. He still hesitates to touch himself, his hand hovers over his prick as the last shreds of his resolve struggle against the need to relieve himself. When he finally cracks, it’s with a whispered apology to Collins, as though it can mitigate the sin of the action.

His flesh is solid, hot, slick; he can’t remember the last time he felt this hard. Images spring to mind of Collins’ strong hands stroking over his body and grasping his arousal with thick fingers as Harry slowly begins to work himself. He wants to know how those powerful hands would feel around his prick compared to his own delicate fingers. More than that, he wants to imagine how it would feel to take another man’s prick in his hand and stroke it as he does his own. There are rumours of Collins’ endowment being prodigious, both in length and girth, and Harry wonders if the circumference would stretch the limits of his grip. If his testicles would be of proportionate heft, and if that thick pelt on his chest and stomach would be recreated there. Harry longs to please Collins more even than he longs to please himself; his affection for the man has been steadily growing over the course of their journey and it would delight him like nothing else to bring joy to those sorrowful dark eyes. Collins’ voice has always appealed to him and Harry can almost feel the rumble of it against him as he imagines Collins’ eyes fluttering closed at the first brush of Harry’s hand to his prick.

Never has Harry felt the touch of another, though often he has craved it and no more so than now, on this cold ship where loneliness follows him like a spectre. For the first time in his life he feels almost willing to give in to the sickness that has plagued him since he was a boy and allow himself to seek comfort and pleasure with a male. A hard throb of agreement from his prick weakens his resolve further yet, and he lets the hand resting on his thigh venture towards the place between, skimming the very edge of his cleft just below his scrotum and biting his lip to prevent himself from cursing at the forbidden thrill of it. It is one thing to crave a man, that would surely be sickness enough, but to crave being taken, to feel his body ache to be filled, it’s beyond sense. He can’t quite bring himself to venture further, to let his fingers nestle between his cheeks and toy with the entrance to his body. Still, the idea of letting Collins’ thick fingers breach him lingers. The anatomical knowledge of exactly how his muscles would strain and stretch around an intrusion arouses him, and he knows how a member of such impressive girth as Collins supposedly possesses would push the very limits of physical possibility. It would hurt, his body would protest, he would be unable to feel anything but his poor body’s desperate attempt to take Collins inside. He longs for it, feels his hole clench as if anticipating the stimulation he’s always denied himself.

Another burst of fluid trickles down his length, wetting his hand and increasing the pleasurable sensation of foreskin enveloping the glans in a slow rhythm. He can feel sweat on his face, his back is clammy against the sheets. His breath is coming in pants, stuttering each time he brushes his thumb across that most sensitive concentration of nerves around his tip. Pleasure is addling his mind, letting him sink into his imagination further as he seeks his completion. In his mind, Collins has entered the room and is rapidly stripping bare, revealing that legendary yard and staring at Harry’s body with fire in his eyes. Harry is kissed thoroughly, his clothing is pulled away and Collins takes his rightful position between Harry’s thighs, running his hands over Harry’s chest with a deep moan before taking Harry in hand and declaring it the most handsome prick he’s ever seen. How Harry would blush at that, his natural modesty making him want to shield his body from further scrutiny, but Henry (for somehow, he is Henry now) would pull his hands away and kiss his knuckles and tell him how pleasing he is to look at. Henry would say that he’s been as wildly enamoured with Harry as Harry has been with him. Again, Harry would blush, and Henry would smile and call the blush ‘pretty’ before dipping his head to kiss him.

Henry, of course, would be a passionate and talented lover, and utterly smitten with Harry’s nervousness and inexperience. He’d slick his fingers with oil before pushing them into Harry, gently opening him, though not so much that Harry would be unable to feel the ache when finally, at Harry’s insistence, he’d push inside, deeper and deeper until Harry was full of him. And then, at that most beautiful and intimate moment of their joining, he would take Harry’s still blushing cheek in his hand and speak of love.

It’s that final thought that throws Harry over the edge, the swell of pressure finally peaking as he spurts, thick streaks of it erupting in waves as a half-suppressed cry of pleasure chokes him. As the high fades, shame and regret sweep in to take its place and he stares down at the mess he’s made of himself. He’ll have to look Collins in the eye again, all the while knowing he’s done him this dishonour and imagined him in the most sinful of circumstances. Perhaps worse than that is knowing truly how he feels now, and while wanting pleasure with a man you can never touch is difficult, loving a man to whom you can never reveal yourself is surely excruciating.

Harry wipes his hand on a washcloth and does his best to tidy up his stomach, wincing as he realises how much he’s produced. With the task complete, there’s nothing left to do but change into his nightshirt and attempt to sleep. Dreams that night are filled as they often are with hints of romance, the joy of being held in another’s arms, and the feel of whiskers beneath his palm as he is kissed. And in dreams, at least, Harry is not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: thegreenmeridian.tumblr.com


End file.
